
Class _E6J_^1Z_ 

Book._ZlJ_2LVVX- 
CcpiglitN" 



COPyRIGHT DEPOSn^ 



The Wreck 
of the Myrtle 

AND OTHER VERSES 



By 
WILBUR MORRIS STINE 




SWARTHMORE, PA. 

THE ACORN PRESS 
1903 







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Copyright, by 

Wilbur Morris Stine, 

1903. 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 



THE ACORN PRESS 



THE CONTENTS 

I 

PAGE 

The Wreck of the Myrtle: 

/. St, Ignace . . . . . , .7 

//. The Voyage 16 

///. The Storm 19 

IV. Adrift . 23 

Helen Deane, a revery; 

Part L 31 

Part IL ' 34 

Part III. 38 

Part IV. . . . . . .40 

Part V. 42 

Part VL 48 

Transhguration . . . . .53 
3 



Zbc Contente 



PAGE 



Cedarcroft : 

Part L 73 

Part IL 79 

Part III. 82 

Thought and Fancy : 

A Hymn to the Intellect . . .89 

Truth and Song 98 

Night and Death loi 

Birds of Song 103 

Papilio 106 

October : 

/. Cold is the passion of the year . .108 

//. Sound, autumn winds . . .109 

///. The Summer^ s Dirge . . .110 

The Inward Sea m 

The Long, Long Days: 

/. They ceaseless come and go . .112 
//. Broken by dreams . . . .113 

Notes 115 

4 



THE WRECK OF THE 
MYRTLE 



THE WRECK OF THE MYRTLE 

I. ST. IGNACE 

T TPON the Northern Lakes, the reign 
^^^ Of winter fast and hard had lain ; 
And tardily the spring again 

Dissolved its boisterous spell, 
That held the harbors desolate. 
And locked each bay and narrow strait 
With fetters strong and obstinate. 
The sun could not dispel. 

Within each ice-bound, sheltered bay, 
A fleet of wintering vessels lay 
Impatient for the Opening Day, 

When they might bend the sail : 
But softer grew the skies and clear ; 

7 



Zbc mrecM ot tbe /Bbisrtle 

While, over the prairies flat and drear, 
The winds of the South blew warm with 
cheer, 
Where had swept the northern gale. 

And on Lake Michigan the spring 

Rests now in its full awakening ; 

The milder sun, that its bright days bring. 

Consumes the winter's wrack : 
With the tide and swell, the broken floes 
Strewn with the waste of drifted snows. 
Drive to the lake, when an east wind blows 

Through the Straits of Mackinac. 

Clear in the spring-tide's softened night, 

In the west there burn, like twin stars, bright 

The wavering flash of the White Shoal light. 

And the beacon on Waugoshance ; 
While, out on the darkening lake, away. 
The eye through the starlit haze might stray 
And drearn, that no demon of storm could lay 

A gale on its calm expanse. 
8 



Zbc TOreck of tbe /IRi^ttle 

On the noithern shore, that the Straits em- 
brace, 
There lies an ancient shipping-place, 
Whose romantic name of St. Ignace 

Might grace some stately town; 
Its rambling streets, a mile or more, 
Pass inland from the level shore ; 
And half hidden by maple and sycamore, 

Stand its houses weathered brown. 

On a fair May day in this spring-tide bright 
There followed a dreamy, moonlit night 
Caressed with the south wind's soft delight 

From the distant Indies blown : 
Toil grudging yields the night surcease ; 
The lake in the moonlight's mystic peace, 
Rejoices at its new release, 

In murmured undertone. 

From the village streets, half echoed stray 
The cries of children at their play : 
And in the harbor, where yet stay 

9 



Zbc TKHtecft of tbe IVs^xtic 

The wintering lumber-boats, 
Against the starlit evening skies 
The clustering masts of the vessels rise; 
And from one a flapping dog-vane flies, 

Where the schooner Myrtle floats. 

Along a straggling street, that led 

Straight to the harbor and the head 

Of the creeping, weathered pier, where spread 

The hulls of the shadowy fleet, — 
Two passed with steps, that lingered slow, 
As strolling lovers are wont to go ; 
Till they saw the Myrtle lie below. 

At the end of the village street. 

Paul was the mate of the staunch old boat ; 

And, brave as the hardiest tar afloat. 

He laughed at the sudden storms, that smote 

The sleeping, treacherous lake : 
But Martha feared his dangerous trade. 
And, most, the summer storms, that played 

lO 



XLbc Mreck of tbe l^vjtic 

On the fickle Michigan, and made 
The stoutest sailor quake. 

Two years had passed, this Easter-tide, 
Since Martha had promised to be his bride, 
If he forsook the sea and plied 

Some homely task ashore ; 
And Paul had vowed, to win his wife, — 
Though he loved his craft, and the sailor's 

life 
Through the summer's calm and the wild 

storm's strife, — 
He would sail the Lake no more. 

Yet, how by love's impatience spurred. 
He had plied his efforts not deterred. 
The passing months his hopes deferred, 

To win for her a home : 
But the sailing season scarce begun. 
The fortune he had sought, was won ; 
And, when this short May voyage was done, 

He need no longer roam. 
II 



Zbc TOrecft ot tbe fSsmic 

Beyond the children's noisy play 
At merry games, and laughter gay, 
They slowly passed along the way. 

That led them to the pier. 
Something of sadness seemed to lie 
Upon the night ; and they scarce knew, why 
The sound of the wind fell like a sigh 

For some misfortune near. 

They paused at a quiet place, alone, 
Where the lights of the Myrtle glimmering 

shone : 
Then, suddenly, in ardent tone 

Paul pleaded that they might wed ; 
But Martha turned her eyes away 
From her lover impatient at delay ; 
And, since she could not say him nay. 

The maiden no word said. 

Then she sought his gaze with tearful eye 
And pleading look, to make reply, — 



Ubc TOrec^ ot tbe /Bb^rtle 

While her trembling hand and low-breathed 
sigh, 

Betrayed an unspoken fear, — 
^^ Oh, Paul, sail not with the Myrtle away ; 
Give up the sea this very day, 
And in St. Ignace on the morrow stay, 

Contented with me here ! '' 

In Paul a feeling of anger stirred, 
That Martha still his suit deferred; 
But, silencing an impatient word, 

He sought an answer gay, 
That might beguile her passing fear, 
That their happiness, which seemed so near, 
Might suffer some misfortune drear 

Before their wedding-day. 

" In this May weather who is afraid ? 
Just one trip more, my little maid. 
Then I will give up the sea ! " Paul said, 
And kissed her laughingly. 



^be TDGlrecft ot tbe m^xtlc 

" What would Captain Wilson say, 
If I sailed not with the Myrtle away 
On the morrow, out on Moran Bay? 
And the lads would laugh at me ! " 

But Martha heard him silent awhile ; 
Then, with trembling voice and a saddened 

smile. 
She urged her fears, that she might beguile 

Her lover to stay ashore : 
She turned toward the lights of the schooner, 

dim. 
With its flapping vane on the masthead trim, 
While she spoke, — not daring to look at 
him, — 
" The Myrtle will come back no more ! " 

A secret pang smote the heart of Paul ; 
For well he knew the sudden squall. 
That on the quiet lake might fall 
In the smiling month of May : 
He spoke not his fears, but laughed instead ; 

14 



XLbc mrecft of tbe m^xtlc 

Then, seizing her hands, he gaily said, 
" But one trip more, then we will wed 
And I will no more away. '' 

As the lovers homeward slowly passed, 
He strove to allay the fears, that harassed 
The heart that loved him well ; at last, 

As they parted at her door, 
Paul craved some token to wear, afloat, 
While he sailed the lake for his port remote ; 
And Martha untied from her shapely throat 

The crimson ribbon, she wore. 

15 



^be TUllrec^ of tbe /H^i^rtle 

11. THE VOYAGE 

On the morrow the Myrtle her moorings 

slipped, 
Laden with freight for South Haven, shipped ; 
And, gaily, to Waugoshance they dipped 

The colors, that flew from the stern : 
In the north-west wind the sails were taut, 
And the ship sped along, like a graceful 

yacht ; 
While Paul was filled with the constant 

thought 
Of Martha, and his return. 

Soon St. Ignace was lost to sight, 
And Beaver Isle lay clear on the right ; 
While far astern sank Gray's Reef light, 

As they steered past Goodhart buoy. 
The day wore on and the twilight fell. 
The lake lay calm in a dreamy spell ; 
And Paul on the watch heard an evening bell 

Ring far from Charlevoix. 
z6 



tCbe TOreclft of tbe IKs^xtlc 

Through the twilight clear the stars gleamed 

bright ; 
On the sea-line glimmered a steamer's light, 
While the trail of its smoke in the calm, 

spring night, 
Like a banner, lay on the sky. 
Paul with a lover's thoughts, was filled ; 
His doubts had passed and his fears were 

stilled, 
As Martha's voice in his heart yet thrilled. 
While he dreamed of his wedding nigh. 

The quiet voyage made the days slow pass, 
For the slumbering lake lay, a sea of glass 
Serene, as no storm could its peace harass. 

As the lingering days wore on. 
They shoreward steered from the deeper 

sea. 
Keeping sight of the towns on the shelter- 
ing lee ; 
They saw the roofs of Manistee, 
And the lights of Ludington. 
B 17 



XLbc Wixcc\{ ot tbe m^xtlc 

Through the haze lay Shelby's clustering hills, 
Where the spring the scent of the orchards 

distills ; 
And, lazily, the smoke from the scattered mills 

Drifted seaward with the breeze. 
On the shore by Grand Haven's wind-swept 

height. 
Lay the bleak sand dunes in the morning 

light ; 
From the merciless drifts of whose shifting 
blight, 
Rose the tops of buried trees. 
i8 



Zbc TOteck ot tbe mmic 

III. THE STORM 

While off Spring Lake in the waning 

night, 
The day broke cold with sullen light, 
And the fog-cast sky grew lurid bright 

With a gleam of threatening red : 
The sailor upon the watch growled low. 
That, before the night, a gale would blow ; 
But the day grew fair, and the clouds in its 

glow 
To the distant sea-line sped. 

The rippling lake lay soft in the light ; 

The sails in the stiffening breeze, were tight ; 

And, before the storm might break that night, 

The Myrtle in port would lie. 
The joke sped the rounds of the jolly crew. 
While they bent to their tasks the morning 

through ; — 
Soon Ottawa light on the distant view, 

Rose clear on the changing sky. 

19 



XTbe TOrecft ot tbe /Bbi^rtle 

Then swift from the hills the mists rolled fast, 
And the sky with clouds grew overcast ; 
Upon the lake the fog thick massed 

Into deepening banks of gloom : 
The sun was hid, and an ominous chill 
Fell on the air, grown strangely still 
In a lull, before the tempest shrill 

Broke loud with threatening doom. 

Paul at the wheel would have put straightway 
For Saugatuck, on their bow away. 
To gain the lee of its sheltering bay. 

Before the storm might break; 
But the captain, thinking the storm but a 

squall. 
Bade the course be changed, where the thick- 
ening pall 
Rose dark from the sea, like a forbidding wall 
To outride the gust on the lake. 

With storm-sail set the Myrtle drove, — 
While its plunging bow with the cross -waves 
strove, — 

20 



XTbe mrccK ot tbe /IRi^ttle 

Into the fog, that, thickening, wove 

A mantle dark as night. 
And swiftly the sea began to rise 
Into rolling waves of ominous guise, 
Under the lash of the seething skies, 

That drove them in wild affright. 

The night drew on with deepening gloom. 
And fiercer grew the gale ; while the boom 
Of the waves rose wild with a cry of doom 

Against the laboring boat. 
The captain knew, that no passing squall 
Now lay on the lake in the murky pall ; 
And well he feared, what might befall 

His craft on such night afloat. 

As Paul steered the ship in the rising gale, 
Ever he heard through the tempest's rail, 
A warning cry of moan and wail. 

Above the wind's hoarse roar ; — 
The cry seemed flung from the driving 
cloud, 

21 



Ubc OTrecft of tbe mmic 

As a ghost had called from the whistling 

shroud 
The words of Martha, — jeering loud, — 
T'he Myrtle will come back no more ! " 

With but sail to take the waves ahead, 

In the teeth of the north-west gale, they sped 

Through the laboring night of fear and dread, 

A prey of the winds and the main. 
In the first grey dawn of the morning light 
The captain saw, gleaming mistily bright. 
The ^* mariner's star " on the Temple's height, 

In a pause in the driving rain ; 

Then the sky-cast lights of Chicago spread 
A wavering glow on the clouds ahead ; 
While, toward it fast, the Myrtle sped 

Under straining, tattered sheet. 
The crew through the wash and driving spray. 
Close furled the sail, and cast away 
The anchors ; and soon the Myrtle lay 

With the ships off Van Buren Street. 



Cbe TOrecft ot tbe Ifb^xtlc 

IV. ADRIFT 

Two days rode the Myrtle to anchors tied, 

Amid the rolling fleet ; and tried 

To come by the breakwater, where inside. 

Tossed a score of boats in the lee : 
While dashed on the piers and piled on the 

shore, 
Lay many a wreck in the scene before ; 
Yet, with fury insatiate, the wild winds 
bore 

Across the laboring sea. 

The gallant ship had won by its fight 
With the storm and seas of that fearful 

night, 
A kindlier fate, than to sink in the sight 

Of the city's sheltering bar ; 
Or, leaking in straining seam and breach, 
Be cast, a wreck on the shoaling beach. 
To break in the surf, beyond the reach 

Of the life-line's plunging car. 

23 



XLbc mrecK of tbe /iR^ttle 

But its doom was cast before it sailed ; 
The ghost of the storm its fate had wailed ; 
Yet, safe to its anchors, still it trailed 

With head to the driving spray. 
Its hour had come ! and a sinking boat 
Its moorings fouled ; and, cast afloat. 
The breaking surge its bulwarks smote 

Till the straining seam.s gave way : 

And tossed in the pitiless western gale, 
The mad seas broke on the vessel frail ; 
While the winds bore away its tattered sail. 

So it could not obey the helm. 
The hapless crew for safety clung. 
Some to the rigging, where they swung. 
While the breaking waves their torrents flung. 

As the craft they would overwhelm. 

The captain and mate were lashed to a stay 
On the deck of the cabin, that scarce at bay 
Kept the driving surge and drenching spray, 
Which swept from the gaining sea. 

24 



trbe TOrecft ot tbe /ift^ttle 

Vainly, the worn life-crews had tried 
To come by the ship through the furious tide; 
But their lines had failed of the vessel, wide, 
As it drifted helplessly. 

Through the afternoon of that fateful day, 
The Myrtle dragged at its anchors, astray ; 
It had tossed by a pier, where piled wrecks lay 

Foreboding its own fate. 
From the shore and buildings thousands saw 
The gallant craft, as it strove with the flaw ; 
And, silently, in fear and awe 

They watched compassionate. 

Scarce half a mile from the surf-swept shore, 

It lay off Douglas Place, and bore 

Toward the south ; and, reeling low, the more 

Its deck with the waves, was washed. 
On the high sea-wall a great crowd pressed 
Watching the craft, as it dragged distressed ; 
While sea after sea upon it pressed 

And over it madly dashed. 
25 



^be Wreck ot tbe m^xtlc 

Though the sweeping wash scarce footing 

gave, 
As the Myrtle mounted some higher wave, 
A sailor would dash with frenzy brave 

Across the storm-swept wreck ; 
And, gaining the cabin, would join the crew, 
Who had clung to its shelter the peril 

through ; 
While the crowds were breathless at the 
view. 
As he crossed the treacherous deck. 

A moment, the sun, now sinking low, 
Shone through the clouds, on the lake be- 
low; 
And laid on the sea a golden glow, 

Till its billows flashed in the light : 
Like a pitying touch from the merciless 

skies, 
A gleam on the sinking Myrtle lies. 
As the Heavens crowned their sacrifice 
With radiant splendor bright. 
26 



Cbe mrecR ot tbe /iRi^rtle 

An instant the Myrtle paused on a wave, 
Then, reeling, a terrible lurch it gave ; 
And the torn ship sank in a yawning grave, 

While the winds shrieked wild with glee. 
A cry of horror broke from the crowd. 
But the tempest mocked it with jeerings loud; 
And the driving spray was the Myrtle's 
shroud, 

As it sank in the pitiless sea. 

On the morrow, they found on the shoaling 

beach, — 
Cast high beyond the surfs wild reach. 
With a chest, which had swept through the 
cabin's breach, — 
The mate cold in death's embrace. 
Where he lay in the mild, calm morning 

light, 
They opened Paul's coat, and there met their 

sight, 
A bow of ribbon, once crimson bright, 
Now pale as his ashen face. 
27 



XTbe Wreck of tbe /IRi^rtle 

Silently, thence, the life-crew bore 

Their burden of death from the surf-beaten 

shore ; 
And little they knew of the sorrow sore 

For the mate, who would not come back. 
There was weeping that day in St. Ignace, 
For sad were hearts in that stricken place ; — 
And a woman looked seaward, with ashen 
face. 
On the Straits of Mackinac. 
September, 1902. 

28 



HELEN DEANE 

A REVERY 



HELEN DEANE 

A REVERY 

I 

T IKE romance tender, there falls a 
charm 
Across life's grey existence, 
Whose spiritual touch upon the days, 
Falls soft through Care's persistence. 

It sheds a tender, softening glow 
On lowering days harassing, 

Caressing with a wistful gleam 
Hours leaden slow in passing. 

A charm, it is, of breath divine. 
Transmuting fate unbending ; 

31 



IHelen Beane 

Uplifting man from rule of things 
Into the life transcending. — 

About the lowly, common thing 
The heart may weave its story, 

Investing with abiding charm 
The mean and transitory ; 

May clothe with beauty passing fair, 
The bleak to others, seeming ; 

Diffusing on the commonplace 
The radiance of its dreaming. 

A rural, half-neglected spot. 

In winter's squalor lying. 
Than all a city's formal show, 

Its spire with dome outvying, 



May move the heart with deeper touch ; 

With spell of mystic leading. 
May turn the heart, how roaming wide. 

Where Love first spoke its pleading. 
32 



An object to the passing glance, 
May awake no hidden vision ; 

Of awkward fashion, faded, worn, 
It meets with half derision : 

But Love once touched it, and the heart, 
Old memories to it bringing, 

Finds in its faded aspect, still, 
A tender halo clinging. 

A realm the charm creates apart. 
Where glows the gold of morning. 

And where the heart enchanted views 
Its dreams with youth's adorning; 

Where lives renewed its fancies fond, 
Its memories dear in keeping, 

Until the heart yields to their joys, 
Forgetful of its weeping. 

It grants within the world of sense, 
A world the heart has fashioned, — 

c 33 



THelen Deanc 

A space of light, whose shadows soft 
With love are sweet impassioned. 

It makes of life a sphere divine, 
And proves the soul immortal ; 

Its tenderness the years outlives. 
Nor falters at death's portal. 

The soul of things, not grasped by sense, 
But to the heart replying, — 

It gives assurance to the faith, 
We perish not in dying. 

II 

Where Pennsylvania's mountains wind 

In ridges low and wooded. 
Remote among its central hills, 

A valley lies secluded ; 

From sombre woodlands grimly lift 
The bleak Bald Eagle Mountains : 

34 



And, risen from their foaming rills 
And hidden, limpid fountains, 

A river winds in tortuous curves ; 

Now foaming wild and leaping, 
Then, in more placid mood, flows on 

Through narrow meadows creeping. 

Far from the noisy roads of Trade, 

The city's sordid passion, 
Life, here sequestered, leads its days 

In Nature's simpler fashion. 

Far down the valley's narrow course, 

On upland high reposing ; 
Near where the mountains bleak divide, 

A narrow glen enclosing, — 

A straggling village wanders down 
From mountain slope to river ; 

Whose dwellings sun-embrowned, pro- 
claim 
Toil's stern and hard endeavor. 

35 



Melen 2>eane 

An aspect desolate they v/ear, 

Of poverty and hardship ; 
The homes of toiling serfs of Trade, 

Hard bound to Mammon's lordship ; 

While he who fattens on their toil^ 
Apart, dwells in his mansion ; 

That, proudly on the town beneath^ 
Looks down with condescension. 

Beside a hill the furnace stands 
With sloping dome ascending. 

Where men in tropic toil delve on. 
Its fiery blast attending, 

That, suddenly, on midnight skies. 
Throws lurid glows appalling ; 

The fiery prayer of human toil 
Upon the heavens calling. 

Close by the river, looms the forge 
With low, black roofs extended ; 

36 



Where smoking stacks and throats of fire 
In lurid gloom, are blended. 

Its mighty hammer's Titan blows, 

The jar and noise outvying. 
The hills and mountain slopes repeat. 

Till lost in echoes dying. 

Secluded spot ! its life moves on 

Unknowing finer passions, 
And scarce the wider world intrudes 

Its changing moods and fashions ; 

But human beats the unschooled heart, 
How rude may be its token ; 

And, dumbly known, the bosom thrills 
With deeper life unspoken ! 

37 



Welen Deane 



III 



Here memory turns through crowded 
years, 

The man to youth restoring ; 
Upon Bald Eagle's rocky slopes 

He seems again exploring 

For hidden roots and shrinking flowers, 
The spring's arbutus trailing 

Between bare rocks, its blushing charms 
In gentle shadows veiling. 

Again, kind Time a June restores 
From his perennial treasure, — 

A June as bright and wistful fair, 
As meant for youthful pleasure. 



A cloudless morning heralds day 
With new-blown roses fragrant ; 

And filled with droning song of bee - 
Fond Nature's golden vagrant. 

38 



From scattered homes, on frolic bent, 
Come laughing youths and maidens ; 

The youths with baskets weighted down, 
That picnic cheer rich ladens. 

Some flush with awkward bashfulness, 
The older men when meeting ; 

Replying with their eyes downcast, 
To mingled jest and greeting. 

The bolder pass with raillery. 

Staid decorum forgetting; 
And youth's free laughter rises gay 

From innocent coquetting. 

Here two approach half silently, 
A bashful love repressing, — 

Her hand to share the basket's weight. 
Laid to his own, caressing. 

Half enviously the older folks 
Look on the merry-making ; 

39 



Urtelen Deane 

For grey upon their past lies dim 
The gold of Love's awaking : 

Old joys find echoes from the past, 

To music of the voices ; 
The passing jests of youth, again, 

The heart of age rejoices. 

They share with youth its holiday. 
The olden thrill remember ; 

And, soft, the sun of Love's sweet June 
Falls low on Life's December. 

IV 

Has man in Nature not a part, 
No portion in her measure ; 

Does she not feel the human heart, 
Nor count it in her treasure ? 

Do not her echoes still repeat 
A name, love once has spoken ; 

40 



Does she not hold inviolate still 
The vows, that time has broken ? 

Yields not her heart to ardent youth ; 

Lives she in moment-seeming ; 
Within her bosom cold with years, 

Lies there no memory dreaming? 

Is there no past, no future, then ; 

Naught but the Instant's being, — 
Naught but a Present hardly grasped 

And like a shadow fleeing ? 

Still, in Bald Eagle's wooded glen, 
When summer airs are sighing. 

When, to the streamlet's drowsy note 
The birds are sweet replying ; 

Mingling with woodland music still, 
Echoed in murmuring measures ; — 

The breeze yet whispers to the leaves 
A name that memory treasures. 

41 



THelen Deane 

How changed with time the place has 
grown, 

And marred with uncouth fashions ; 
How half-forgotten lies the past, 

In stress of present passions ; — 

There lingers still, as real as then, 
The spell of a maiden's beauty, — 

Though she has changed, grown sterner 
now 
By passing task and duty. 

V 

A MERRY company they were. 
Who sought the place of meeting ; 

And each arrival loud was plied 

With welcoming laugh and greeting. 

Along the village street they passed 
With careless air, not heeding 

The quip and jest from store and shop, 
Upon their gay proceeding. 
42 



Their rendezvous was Fletcher's woods, 

Gained by a pathway hiding 
Its tortuous length in fragrant shade, 

Beyond the railway siding. 

Near where the siding met the line, 

A post its crude form lifted, 
That warned the brakemen, where to stop 

The cars, when they were shifted. 

The merry party sauntered on 

To gain their destination ; 
And, turning from the village street. 

Where stood the railway station. 

They followed thence the curving track, 
And passed the post, unheeding ; 

Scarce missing two, who, loitering back, 
The lovers' pace were leading. 

Fair were the maidens, pleasure bent. 
With youthful grace, and winning; 

43 



IHelen Deane 

Their laughing eyes and ripening charms 
Might urge love's sweet beginning : 

But fairest of that company 

Was Helen Deane, that morning ; 

Her dainty beauty, grace and charm, 
Needed no art's adorning. 

She wore a dainty gown of pink, 
With hat the soft shade mating, 

That made her seem some budding 
flower 
A richer bloom awaiting. 

Her features small and exquisite, 

By charms refined, were brightened ; 

And health's faint flush, that tinged her 
cheeks. 
Her raven hair soft heightened. 



Beneath the wide brim of her hat, 
That tantalized her lover, 

44 



Eyes black as midnight, shyly hid, 
Which, from its friendly cover, 

When they were raised coquettingly, 
Sweet answered his heart's pleading : 

Their depths mysterious were bright ways 
Into his heaven leading. 

Like lovely saint, her air demure 
No guile nor harm could proffer ; 

She was a shrine, where a loving heart 
Life's incense rich might offer ! 

In converse low the lovers strolled. 
Not heeding they were nearing 

The uncouth post, that barred their path^ 
Until, it suddenly appearing^ 

He paused, while Helen to the right 
Had passed the post; then, bending 

His way upon the other side. 
The object scarce attending, -^ 

45 



Melen 2)eane 

He moved again to Helen's side, 
With quick remark betraying 

Impatience, that the post had blocked 
The pathway they were straying. 

He heeded not, that by his act 

He carelessly had broken 
A quaint tradition, lovers hold, 

Had Helen not quick spoken. 

She chided him in gentle wise 
On such untrue proceeding ; 

For he had severed their youthful love 
By turning, and not heeding 

To follow her, the way she passed ; — 
And, though in deep contrition 

He pleaded he had not meant it thus, 
And called it superstition ; 

Then sought to turn it into jest. 
An omen without meaning ; — 

46 



Yet Helen's eyes were troubled now. 
Still to the portent clinging 

With woman's strange insistence, where 

Her finer intuition 
The reason of the man outruns, — 

She urged, the quaint tradition 

Oppressed her with forebodings vague 

Of a coming separation. 
With winsome flush of innate pride 

And love's coy hesitation, 

She artless spoke her secret fears : 

For him a life was waiting, 
That lay beyond her chosen lot, 

And eager emulating. 

With the change the passing years must 
bring, 

His ardent love might languish ; 
And, though true to her, the joy of love 

Might pass to pain and anguish. 

47 



Melen 2)eane 

The eyes he loved, with tears were filled, 
That would not brook repression ; 

And Helen flushed, as they betrayed 
Her love to bold confession. 

Upon her half-averted face. 

Lay loveliness supernal, — 
Love's miracle transmuting earth 

With touch of the eternal. 

VI 

How time and chance have dulled and 
veiled 

The memories of life's passing ; 
How dreams of youth awakenings rude 

Have met through cares harassing ; — 

One vision yet inviolate stays 

And, through the years, grows fairer ; 
Til] half-transcendent it appears 

And more ethereal, rarer, 
48 



Than flush and tide of passing joys, 
The moment's proud occasion, — 

A dream enchanting realized 

From time's stern, slow evasion ! 

Tender, as memory of a song, 

Where pain half-uttered trembled 

In undertones the strains among, 

Their gladness scarce dissembled, — 

The pang, that Helen's words awoke, 

The fear of separation, 
Wake tender, now, in memory sweet, 

Time gives in reparation. 

And still the eyes of youth seem turned 
Upon the mountain dreaming, 

Serene in mellowed sun of June : 
As swaying branch and gleaming 

Might yield a solace for its pain; 

Or hide in mystic cover 
D 49 



Melen 2)eane 

Some charm against impending fate, 
To aid an unhappy lover. 

Then Nature seemed but mockery, 

To human-kind unfeeling ; 
Taunting with echoes cries of pain. 

Or merry laughter, pealing. 

But now the pain and love of youth, 
With each sweet June's appearing. 

Are more the tender notes of song, 
A wistful strain endearing. 

Within the melodies, that stray 
Amid the trees and fountains, 

Where Nature blended with love's young 
dream. 
By the green Bald Eagle mountains. 

February, 1903. 

50 



TRANSFIGURATION 



I 



TRANSFIG URA TION 

I 

^T^HERE falls with the gloom a touch of 
pain 
On the laggard hours of the sullen day, 
When the moaning wind fast drives the rain 

In wavering sheets of spray ; 
When, over the hills and the sodden plain, 

Broods a leaden mist and grey : 
And scarce a bird dares spread its wings 

In flight disconsolate, 
But in a sheltering grove it cheerless sings 

A complaining note to its brooding mate. 
The heart grows sad, scarce knowing why. 
At the gloom and the sombre sky. 

S3 



transfiguration 



II 



When the day to a starless night gives place, 

And a mantle of fog wraps field and wood ; 
While the winds sink low from their furious 
pace 
And lull to a calmer mood : 
There falls on the scene a silence vast, 

As the land expectant lay. 
Till the gloom and the storm be overpast, 

And there dawn a sunlit day. 
The heart knows not in an azure sky, 

Above the brooding mists that lie. 
Like a pall upon the dreary scene, 
The moon is radiant queen. 

Ill 

O Wind of the North, that blowest fair 
With quickening breath of purer air ! 
Ere the hours shall wane to the midmost 
night. 
Drive thou from the land the fog and mist ; 

54 



C^ranettguratlon 

That the heart may smile at the distant light 
Of the stars through the clouds moon-kissed. 
The gleam of the radiant night, is thine ; 

The mists before thee flee ; 
Thou loosest the clouds, that the land 
confine, 
By thy breath from the northern sea ! 

IV 

From copse and sombre, darkening wood ; 
From dell and rain-moist solitude ; 
From mirroring pool and mimic lake, 
The limpid streams, that through the mead- 
ows flow ; 
From bog and fen, and fern-spread brake. 
And lowland fields the gold-white daisies 
know : 
Up rise the mists, like departing ghosts. 
From the brooding ranks of the storm- 
ing hosts. 
Who conquered the day 
With fog and spray. 

55 



^ranstiguratton 



Up rise the mists, like white, fair forms, 
From the coverts, where they ranged 
Through the sullen day, — the creatures 
of storms, 
Now to silver-white zephyrs changed ! 
With white arms outspread, 

They gracefully rise 
And, with airy tread. 
Seek the bending skies. 

VI 

Like gossamer of finest lace, 
Their garments cling with witch- 
ing grace ; 
Whose folds with silver gleaming 

bright, 
But half conceal limbs moulded white, 
And a being ravishing. 
While they pass on bended wing. 
Upon the still, calm air they float, 

56 



XTranettQuratton 

As eager for the skies remote ; 
While the trail of their garments lingering 

clings 
To the earth, as they rise on spirit wings. 

VII 

They sway and bend on outspread wings ; 

Awhile they hover above the fields : 
In the spell of the charm, that their beauty 
flings 
To the shrouding night, that softly 
shields 
Their entrancing forms of ecstasy, 
Froni the vulgar, common eye. 
In lingering flight they slowly pass. 
In the lulling calm of a rapturous trance ; 

And, in airy measures over the grass, 
They circle and sway in a dreamy dance. 

VIII 

In the strength of their new-born spirit power. 
In the thrill of their wings outspread on the air, 

57 



([TranstiQuration 

The spirit hosts, through the calm night hour, 

Rise in ranks majestic fair. 
On the enraptured arms of a fragrant breeze, 
They have charmed from the meadows and 
lured from the trees, 
They are borne along 
In stately throng ; 
With measured flight, the enchanting array 
In airy grace, slow wafts away. 
The meadows and fields grow dark with pain, 
While they mourn the loss of their hosts in 
vain 
And gathering drops of the evening dew ; 
While the breeze complains the long night 
through. 

IX 

To the crown of the distant hills they move, 
Where they gather in fair, white ranks ; 

While the gleaming hosts their numbers prove. 
Who have come from the fields, the mead- 
ows and banks 

58 



tIransttQuratton 

Of the mirroring pools and murmuring 

streams ; 
Like the gathering hosts of a warrior's dreams. 
Then, like burst of a glorious song, they 
rise, 
On the wings of its strains they upward 
float; 
They bend their flight to the midnight skies, 
And are lost in their depths remote. 

X 

The moon in the midst of the heavens rides ; 
And its sphere with radiance crowned, 
Revealed in full, majestic round. 
Pours its light in splendid tides. 
From the skies beneath, by the north wind 

kissed. 
The clouds have dissolved in ethereal mist : 
The wavering stars shine faintly bright. 
Dimmed by the gleam 
Of the moon supreme. 
And the sheen of its conquering light ; 

59 



n^rangtlQuration 

That, in splendid tides, 
Their lustre hides 
In the darkening amethyst. 
Like a wistful touch of the mystery. 
That broods on the shoreless, moonlit sea. 
On the midmost hour of the lucid night. 
An expectant hush abides. 

XI 

Then forth from the languorous South 
remote ; 
Upborne on the tide of the higher air, — 
On the vast expanse of the heavens, float 

The multitudes of beings fair. 
In seried ranks, with phalanx wide. 
As the shoreless waves on the sea's expanse, 

The zephyrs of mist in the azure ride ; 
And, borne on the wings of the air, advance. 
From the taint of the fen, grown purified, 
The formless earthly deified ; 
The spirits of storm in celestial guise. 
As lost in the spell of their rapturous grace, — 
60 



XTraneft^utation 

Through the hush profound of the heaven's 
space, 
Slow move on the midnight skies. 

XII 

As thrilled with the charm of their beauty 

weird, 
They move toward the moon in the heavens 
ensphered ; 
Under the spell of their ecstasy. 
Upborne on the calm of immensity, 
Supernal in their loveliness, — 
In countless throngs they sway and press. 
From beyond the far horizon's verge. 
Where the sky and the earth in darkness 

merge. 
They move, like an army in the skies. 
Or an angel throng in celestial guise, — 
Toward the crowning splendor of their 
dream ; 
That, in silver tide on their wings of 
white, 

6i 



transfiguration 

Shall fall through the hush and the awe of 
the night, 
While they pass in the moonlight's 
gleam. 

XIII 

The phantom army slowly nears 

The zenith of the splendid night ; 
The vanguard of the host appears, 
Where the silver rays of enchanting 

light, 
Like the tides of a holy grail, 
Fall on forest, hill and vale. 
In the calm of a majesty serene. 

On snowy white, extended wing ; 
With celestial grace of spirit mien, 
Of some divine, high fashioning : 
The lovely host of airy forms. 
Zephyrs born of the summer's storms ; 
Wraiths transformed from the common 

earth. 
Its mists and fogs, through spirit birth, — 
62 



c:ran6ttgutation 

On the far, pure heights of the mid- 
night sky, 
In victorious legions, waft on high. 

XIV 

Like a measured chant of celestial song, 

That for very sweetness pauses, fain 
That its infinite melodies may prolong 
The raptures of its passing strain : — 
Beneath the splendid moon they pass in myri- 
ads spread, 
Till the face of the sky with enchanting forms, 

is gleaming white ; 
While the silver sheen of the moon upon each 

spirit head, 
Lays a halo caught from the iris bow, in daz- 
zling light. 
An aureole crowns each being fair ; 
It gleams amid the flowing hair. 
That floats like a mist on the lucent air ; — 
And softly the circle of radiant hues. 
Its splendor from the moon renews. 

63 



transfiguration 



XV 



Through the hours of the calm and silent 
night ; 
In mysterious hosts, majestic, slow 
The phantom legions come and go 
In countless throngs and infinite. 
Wooed by the spell of loveliness, 
From starlit space they eager press, 
That an aureole crown may glitter bright 
Upon each brow of snow. 
From the farthest bounds of the darkened verge, 

Like the myriad waves of the flashing sea, 
Till the heavens are filled with their charms, — 
they urge. 
Enthralled by an ecstasy. 
To spread their filmy wings in the silver 

sheen ; 
And, poised in the calm of the heights 
serene. 
Wear the coronal of prismal gleam, 
The beatitude of their splendid dream. 

64 



II 



^Transfiguration 



XVI 



Ceaselessly in majestic flight 
Their legions sweep to the chrismal light ; 
Calm in the joy of their holy dream, 
Through the passing hours their myriads teem, 

Transfigured as they fly : 
Till the moon declines from the gathering 
dawn, 
And pales in its kindling radiance ; 
Then, with break of day, 
They haste away ; 
The spirit hosts of the air are gone ; 
And the glorious flight of their heavenly trance 
Slow fades in the northern sky. 

XVII 

They vanish and pale, like dissolving mist 
At the kindling touch of the sun ; 

As the clouds slow fade from the amethyst, 
In the glow of the day begun ; 

But the rapturous grace of their spirit forms, 
E 65 



XTranetiguration 

The sweep of their pinions fair ; 
The chrismal flight of the hosts of the storms, 

And the coronals they wear : — 
These vanish not with the fading throng, 

For not of the night and mist are they ; 
But their splendors, like exalted song, 

In lingering echoes stay. 
The soul of beauty a moment shone 

Embodied in visioned grace, 
Through the solemn hush of the night, alone. 

In the calm of celestial space ; 
And, in being fair, it moved on the wraith. 

Like the dream of a far ideal ; 
That the heart may hold in abiding faith, 
The beautiful is real. 

XVIII 

O Spirits of Mist from fen and field. 

The Phantom Shapes from the fog-veiled 
land! 
To the heart an ecstasy you yield, 
66 



tTranetiauration 

That its humbling gloom with splendor 
grand, 
May pass from the common day. 
From the storms, that sweep with wail and 
moan ; 
From the waste and fen of a wearied life ; 
From the veiling grief and the sadness 
thrown 
On the heart bowed down in a noble 

strife : 
The veil and the gloom grown spirit-fair, 
May rise on the calm of diviner air, 
And in beauty waft away ! 
The thoughts grown cold in task and moil. 
From the heart repressed in wasting toil. 
May bend their flight to heights sublime, 
And seek some far, celestial clime ; 
Where they, transformed through higher birth 
To spirit grace and form divine, 
Like the radiant hosts of the night, — 
may shine. 
And wing from the sordid earth ! 
67 



G:ran6tiguration 



XIX 



By Fancy's mystic touch and grace, 
Our thoughts no more are cold ; 
From out their sordid day and place, 

They rise on pinions bold. 
As, far, on upward wing they soar. 
To brightness grown and beauty more : 
Like the spirit legions of the skies. 
To realms serene they rise. 
There, calm in some celestial height. 
They move to the chrismal touch of 
light; 
And, in the gleam of a heavenly tide. 
From commonness, grow deified ! 
And are the fancies lowly born, of earthly 
grace ; 
Are they but things of airy, passing 
mist : 
Yet, in ethereal realms of visioned space. 

Exalted, they as truth exist ! 
Our mounting thoughts, that seek the skies, 
68 



Utanefiauration 

Unchanging in abiding youth, 
They pass in far, celestial guise, 
The beatitudes of immortal truth ! 

XX 

From the depths of the calm and silent night, 
From the gleam of the distant sphere of light ; 
In the hush and awe of the midnight hour : 
There falls on the soul an unseen power; 
Like the echoes of some passing strain. 
That wakes to melody again. 
And Fancy to the vision brings, 
Illumed with some celestial tide. 
The grace and the charm, that the day 
denied. 
By power divine it takes the laboring thought, 
The things of day, with dullness fraught ; 
And, on its wide, aspiring wings. 
It bears them in majestic flight. 
Unto serene, exalted height 
Above the life of toil and wrong. 
And, there, transformed in the spirit light, 

69 



^ransflQuratton 

Like the passing hosts of the splendid night, 
They move divine as strains of song ; 
In ecstasy of inspired thought, 
And rapture with far meaning fraught. 
O Vision of the mist and night ; 
The Spirit Hosts, and the chrismal light ! 
The heart grows sure in faith through you, 
The beautiful is true. 
August, 1902. 

70 



CEDARCROFT 



CEDARCROFT 

" O Vale of Chester ! trod by him so oft, 

Green as thy June turf keep his memory. Let 
Nor wood, nor dell, nor storied stream forget. 

Nor winds that blow round lonely Cedarcroft ; 

Let the home voices greet him in the far. 

Strange land that holds him ; let the messages 
Of love pursue him o'er the chartless seas 

And unmapped vastness of his unknown star ! " 
Bayard Taylor, by WhitTIER. 



I 



TTj^ROM Kennett's quaint, half-ancient 

square, 
Where memories of Martha Deane 
Linger in tender, sweet appeal, — 
As storied past alone were real, — 
A lovely valley, green and fair, 

73 



CeDarcrott 

Between broad, clustering hills, is seen. 
No fairer prospect Taylor knew, 
Perhaps, his restless wanderings through 
From arctic skies to tropic sun, 
Than the valley of Toughkenamon ; 
Within whose ways, and woodlands 

green, 
With facile pen and pleasing art. 
He wove the spell of homely scene, 
That was a message from his heart. 



From this quaint square, a village 

street 
Leads northward, lined with dwellings 

neat. 
Embowered in vines and wide-spreading 

trees, 
With glimpse of flowers and shrubberies ; 
Until, the village passed, the street 
Becomes a public way, that leads. 
Bordered with vines and wayside weeds. 
By fields of corn and ripening wheat ; 

74 



CeDarcrott 

Over the rolling hills, past farms 
And lawns, where peacefully repose 
Quaint homesteads hidden half with 

charms 
Of ivy and the rambling rose. 

At length the rustic road ascends 
A gentle hill, and eastward bends 
Around the fields and wooded slope, 
Where Taylor, Nature's gifted boy. 
Learned her full range of song and joy ; 
While she instilled a dawning hope. 
That grew through years to a noble aim, 
And led her child to lasting fame. 

Bordered with trees, there passes 
down 
To lowland hidden from the town, 
A lane, that leads to the humble home. 
Which nurtured well the child of song ; 
Which early he forsook to roam 
Through Alpine pass, and foreign lands, 

75 



CeDarcrott 

And Norway's ice-wrapped peaks among, 
And cross the desert's trackless sands. 

How strange, that through these 
peaceful ways, 
Where Nature rests in beauty rare ; 
In that stern life of other days, — 
There passed these lanes and paths along. 
That child, whose high, aspiring song 
In years mature, but voiced the lays 
And drew those passing visions fair. 
He learned these hills and woods among ! 

What Hand Unseen anointed him 
To Nature's priest and acolyte ! 
To leave these fields and woodlands 

dim. 
And dare the far and toilsome height 
Of song and art ; to leave the plow, 
And rustic life of dull content. 
To win some goal of early vow ; 
When he scarce grasped its high intent? 

76 



CeDarcrott 

What Power, within his boyish heart, 
Deep hid the seal of song and art ; 
And taught his pen its minstrelsy, 
Its wild, deep chords of harmony? 

Where the rustic lane the highway 
meets, 
A vine-grown, noble entrance greets 
The visitor to Cedarcroft. 
Majestic trees, that bear aloft 
A wealth of intermingling shade, 
Are the sole guardians of the gate 
And keeper's lodge ; with shadows soft 
They stand in stately colonnade, 
As conscious of their high estate, 
And point the way to a mansion tall, 
With formal rooms and spacious hall. 
Here, had the boy in childhood's way 
Indulged the pleasing fancy's play, 
Of a mansion and extended park 
Crowning the hillside brown and stark. 
Here, when in later years, returned 

11 



CeDarcrott 

With fortune and high honors earned, 
Where he had passed his humble youth, 
Upon this hillside wild, uncouth. 
He placed the home he loved and prized ; 
A youthful fancy realized ! 
78 



CeDarcrott 



II 



Hillside and woodland, and the varied view 
Of rich, brown upland laid with vivid 
green ; 
The vision's reach of orchards, fields, and town 
In sheltered spot, broad, rolling hills 
between ; 

And Nature In her gentle summer mood ; — 
How this calm loveliness may charm ; for 
sake 
Of him, who gave them fame in song and tale. 
These scenes, he loved, a deeper meaning 
take. 

And Cedarcroft, once sacred to the Muse, 
Now, more a wild-grown park with ivied 
tower. 
Is hallowed ground, for memories of One, 
Who loved its winding walks and wood- 
land bower. 

79 



CeOarcrott 

On brow of sloping hill, there lay a path 
The Poet loved ; whose mingling branches 
met 
In fragrant arch above the pine-strewn path ; 
Where sunlight pierced the shade, with 
golden fret. 

In happier days he named it " Poet's Walk "; 

For friends the Muse had crowned with 
lasting fame; 
Who passed with him its shaded way along, 

And left their memory to endear its name. 

Here came the Quaker Poet ; here, Lanier 
Heard woodland music murmur in the 
breeze ; 

And One of deathless song, for whom the pines 
Breathed low his own Acadian melodies. 

And still the pleasant walk the pines embower 
With giant trunk, and stately limbs and 
strong ; 

80 



CeDarcroft 

The passing breeze, that sways their branches 
hoar, 
Yet wakes their murmurs into strains of 
song. 

In gently murmured tones the pines still sing 
The sylvan song, that Taylor loved to hear ; 

Whose echoes linger in his lays, and Ode, 
That celebrates the Nation's Century year. 

In their low strains a note of sadness sings : 
In half neglect the woodland path now 
leads 
Its solitude ; the pines spread wide their gaunt, 
Dead limbs above the tangled vines and 
weeds. 

In vain they wait the Poet's steps ; for him 
They lay their faded green upon the dead 
And mouldering forest leaves ; the seasons 
pass. 
The Poet comes no more, the Muse has fled ! 
F 8i 



CeDarctott 



III 



Something beyond the ken of sense, 
A sweet, abiding influence ; 
A wistful touch of sentiment, 
The spiritual with earthly blent; — 
Still lingers, where in other days 
A human life fulfilled its ways 
Of pain, or strife, or calm repose ; 
Where caught the hope of breaking day ; 
Where waited for the shadowed play 
Of purple gleams, that marked its close ; 
Where passed the miracle of birth, 
That through all time transforms the 

earth 
From failure and decrepitude. 
To youth and fairer hope renewed ; 
Where Love grasped hands in sorrow 

mute, 
Or sought its rest in peaceful eyes. 
And brighter made the golden fruit. 
That crowned the arduous enterprise ! 
82 



CeDarcrott 

Something the very stones endues, 
That build the spot, where human hearts 
Loved, mourned, and filled life's homely 

parts ; — 
That, in their silence, still renews 
The spiritual, that wins our life 
To higher goal from sordid strife ! 

And Cedarcroft, that fondly wears 
The laurels of the Muse entwined 
About the home its walls enshrined, — 
A deeper, holier interest bears. 
For echoes of inspiring song. 
That rose its bowers and halls among. 

How fondly cherished for these strains 
Divine, set here to rich accord 
Of thought and high, enduring word. 
Whose fair enchantment never wanes, — 
Yet Cedarcroft, past its high fame. 
Past honors to its Founder's name, 
To deeper love makes mute appeal : 

83 



CeDatcroft 

Its shadowed rooms and ways reveal 
The lasting impress of a noble heart, — 
Simple with trust in Nature, pure 
As was its childhood's lofty dream ; 
Strong for the manly task, and part 
In struggle for an art supreme ; 
That turned from clamant, passing fame, 
And wrought with single, noble aim 
For perfect form, that should endure. 

But desolate and mournful, now. 
Stands Cedarcroft upon the brow 
Of unkempt hillside ; the shrub and box, 
That bordered formal paths and walks. 
With broken ranks in mild decay. 
Seem grieved for its departed day. 
The mimic lake, that eastward lay 
Close by the hedge-row cedars grim. 
That gaily tossed their shadows dim. 
Neglected lies, a dull morass 
Of waving reeds and tangled grass. 
The cedars, too, that were the pride 
84 



CeDarcrott 

Of this estate, and christened it 
With pleasing name, with openings wide 
Within their broken, shattered rows, 
Bear more, dead branches gnarled and knit, 
Than glistening green of spreading boughs. 

And westward, where in pristine days 
There stood tall, clustering chestnut trees 
Of giant girth, — three monarchs hoar 
From some primeval forest state, 
Survivors from past centuries, — 
These, too, have shared the common fate ; 
Their shattered limbs no more upraise 
A wealth of green to meet the breeze. 
The besom of decay has smitten sore 
Their regal pomp ; the lightning seared 
Their stately crowns, that once endeared 
Them to the Poet ; mournful now 
With mouldering trunk and scanty bough, 
They are but passing memories. 
That linger in some pleasing lays. 
June, 1903. 

85 



11 



THOUGHT AND FANCY 



11 



A HYMN TO THE INTELLECT 



CTRONG Human Mind ! 

From conquests proud ! with deep, 
far-reaching sight 
You search all space to outmost, gleaming 

star. 
Your feeble vision armed with skill, afar 
To scan each circling sun and satellite, 
That crowns the radiant night. 

II 

Tireless, you seek 

The way the world's Creator moved, when He 

Called into being from the pregnant space, 

89 



tlbougbt anD jfanci^ 

The wealth of myriad worlds ; and in His 
grace 
Gave light to all the vast immensity 
Of suns in their degree. 

Ill 

Creation's steps 
You trace anew ; and sun and star you call 
To being from some potent dust evolved : 
You set celestial years, since they revolved 
New-formed, to speed their glowing ways in 
thrall 

Of law, that rules them all. 

IV 

From age to age, 
Your tireless search, that spurns its toil and pain, 
And midnight vigil, finds the secret bands. 
That hold their trackless paths ; with 
wearied hands 
You weigh each glowing mass and search amain 
What guards its starry reign. 
90 



a Migmn to tbe intellect 

V 

With skill divine, 
From wandering lights you read in prismal 
tale, 
Whose every tone is wrought in unheard 

song, 
What builds the might of distant worlds, 
that throng 
All space ; and countless suns, whose radiance 
pale 

Kindles the silver veil. 

VI 

Emotionless, 
You touch the life of flowers, discerning not 
The thrill, that kindles at their varied glow : 
Whose tints are living hues, that pulse and 
flow 
Through forms, whose radiant beauty — pass- 
ing thought — 

By Hands Unseen, is wrought ! 

91 



^bougbt anD ffanci^ 



VII 



Professing truth, 
You would be one with matter's being, blend 
With powers, that mould the common earth 

and air. 
And kiss of sun, into their structures fair ; 
That, haply, you may grasp the utmost end 
Of ceaseless Being's trend. 

VIII 

Your conquests done, — 
Their ceaseless being's trend is woven bright 
With warp of matter, and with woof of 

life: 
They are but victors in an endless strife, 
That animates the dust to greet the light ; 
To bloom and pass from sight. 

IX 

How men may praise. 
Our hearts will yet reject your final word. 
92 



B Bismn to tbe Intellect 

Your search has found a harp of pulsing 

strings ; 
While we would hear the song of life, that 
sings 
In tint and glow, and form, in full accord 
And wealth of beauty poured. 

X 

No limits set 
Their warding bounds to your all-searching 
eye; 
You compass space and sound the hidden 

deep ; 
Its weird, contorted life, it can not keep 
From your truth-seeking sight ; nor low, nor 
high 

Their secrets long deny. 

XI 

Where Nature rules 
In all her vast complexity, no pause 

You find, nor stay ; till, grasping one by one 

93 



Her varied forms, you show, that each 
begun 
In simple life, to complex grows by laws 
You phrase, ^^ The First, Great 
Cause ! '' 

XII 

In matter dwells 
A power that challenges ; you take the quest, 
And feel the throb of that vast enginery 
Which Nature moves in its immensity 
In tireless round, that knows no pause, nor rest 
Fulfilling her behest. 

XIII 

And Matter's self 
You seek, and search to utmost reach of sight ; 
The atom's wondrous world, you fain ex- 
plore 
To trace its orbit with harmonic lore ; 
And prove the chords, the atoms firm unite 
In bonds of crystal might. 

94 



21 IH^mn to tbe ITnteUect 

XIV 

Vast is the gain ! 
For powers, that, like some spirits, move 
unknown 
To sight, that grasps but gross, material 

things. 
You wield to work your will and give 
thought wings ; 
While golden light, which through past ages 
shone. 

Upon your night is thrown. 

XV 

The quest supreme, 
The source of life ! you press with vigor on : 
Where matter blends with life, that moves 

and moulds 
Its inert mass, a mystery enfolds 
A truth so vast, that, through its glimmer- 
ing dawn, 

All other truths were won. 

95 



^bouQbt anD S'anc^ 



XVI 



With matter bound, 
Yet not with matter one, forever flies 
The source of life from laws, which the 

atoms, sway : 
Life yields its growth, departing, leaves 
decay ; 
And, souling matter, on it mystic lies 
In power, all search defies. 

XVII 

O faltering Mind ! 
Your conquering power stays at the gates of 
life! 
Beyond their bounds no human strength 

can fare ; 
The lore, which, as God's word, to men 
you bear. 
Is human still, from age when it was rife 
And struggled in your strife ! 

96 



% IHi^mn to tbe Untellect 

XVIII 

Beyond all thought, 
There moves a Hand, which shapes in un- 
known way 
The vast and small ; and grants life's secret 

strength ; — 
Here ends your quest, O Human Mind, 
at length ! 
Beyond the mystic realm of matter's sway. 
Eternal barriers stay ! 
September, 1900. 
G 97 



^bougbt anD ffanci^ 



TRUTH AND SONG 



T X /"HEN Night leads on its myriad stars, 
* ^ That burn and glow in ceaseless 
round, 
A mystic way in golden bars 

Shines on to truth, through space pro- 
found. 

We lift our feverish eyes above 

To search, where breaks some glorious 
dawn; 
Our hearts are thrilled ; worlds beckoning 
move, 
A way we follow, follow on. 

II 

Night clothes with tender, purple gleam 

The distant mountain, and the wind 

98 



XTrutb ant) Song 

Low whispers of diviner dream 
And beauty, than our senses find. 

It whispers through the deepening night, 

Sings in mysterious orison : 
There gleams, somewhere, the perfect light. 

That we may follow, follow on. 

Ill 

They lead us on, forever on, 

The night and the whispered orison ; 
Our hearts would fare, where Truth has 
gone ; 

Would follow, ever follow on! 

IV 

The sun low bending to the sea. 
Beyond the memory of its shore, 

Lays on its broad immensity 

A way of gold, where splendors pour. 

Where fares this glorious way along ; 
Where passes, when its gleam has gone ? 

EL. ofCi^ 99 



^bougbt anD ffancis 

Its glory lingers like a song, 
That bids us follow, ever on ! 



The leaves, that sound in the passing breeze 
And murmur in a mystic voice ; 

The rustling, moaning songs of trees. 
That in the passing day rejoice : 

Our doubting hearts thrill at their calls. 
And join their songs in unison ; 

They follow, where their sweetness falls; 
Their songs they follow, ever on. 

VI 

O Truth and Song ! they follow thee ; 

They follow on the gleaming sea. 
They follow thy sweet minstrelsy ; 

They follow, ever follow thee! 

September, 1900. 

100 



TtliQbt and l>eatb 



NIGHT AND DBA TH 



N" 



"IGHT and the silent stars, 
Night on the moaning bars ! 
While the hush and awe of the mystery 
In the moaning tides of the restless sea, 
That forever sweep on its pathless deep, 
Seems the touch of eternity. 

Night and the flashing sea, 
Night and immensity ! 
From the distant surge on the rock-bound 

shore. 
There breaks a cry through its muffled roar, 
In murmured tone of wail and moan. 
That shall rise forever more. 

Death and the night of sleep. 
Death and the silence deep ! 

lOI 



Through the anguished hush, there distant 

sound 
In the mystery of an awe profound, 
The terrors wide of that unknown tide, 
That bears the soul on its outmost 
bound. 

Night and the pang of death, 
Night and the passing breath ! 
Though the soul shrinks back from a way 

untrod, 
And lifts its cry at the chastening rod, 
On the anguish strange of that unknown 
change. 
Rests the boundless love of God ! 
August, 1902. 

102 



JBitiis of Sons 



BIRDS OF SONG 



B' 



fIRDSof song, 
Gladsome song, 
Who has tuned your fluting phrase ; — 
Warbled notes, 
Liquid notes 
Thrilling through the summer days ; 
Golden sweet, silver clear. 
Borne on breezes far and near? 

Whence your song. 
Blithesome song. 
Varied but unchanging sung ; — 
Welling notes. 
Echoed notes. 
Olden, still forever young ; — 
From the flowers, from the skies. 
Whence have sprung your melodies ? 
103 



ZTbouabt anD jfanci^ 

From a life, 
Welling life 
Pulsing sweet in hearts of joy, 
They are sung, 
Joyous sung, — 
Pleasure without harm's alloy ; 
Spirit touch, Beauty's thought; 
Gold with jeweled rays inwrought ! 

Lyric thrush, 
Russet thrush 
Lifting song in torrid noon. 
Hails the day. 
Speeds the day, 
Sings to fields and woods aswoon ; 
Like some flute blown by the breeze, 
Hymns the heart of forest trees. 

Minstrel friend, 
Poet friend. 
Bard in red, that greets the spring, 
Bringing joy, 

104 



JBirDs ot Song 

New-born joy, 
Song and life on constant wing ; — 
True of heart, red of breast, 
Bird of home, we love it best ! 

Mellow trills, 
Cadenced trills 
Rise from hedge and wayside tree ; 
Magic song, 

Dream-like song, 
Phrase of sweet-borne melody ; — 
Vesper hymn, sparrow lay, 
Madrigal of closing day. 

Matin choir, 
Vesper choir, 
Priests of dawn, that greet the sun ; 
Flowers awing. 
Songs awing. 
Minstrels, yet, when day is done ; — 
Souls of song, souls of air. 
They are gladness everywhere ! 
June, 1901. 

105 



XTbou^bt anD Jfancig 



PA PI LI O 

T7LITTING, painted butterfly, 
"*" Wanton mote, you flutter by, 
Poising light on gauzy wing ; 
Filmy, airy, dainty thing ! 

Little, sportive, trembling flower. 
Fairy for a summer hour ; 
Spirit loosed from sordid earth. 
Grown divine through higher birth ; ■ 

If on wing you broke in song. 
Gaily as you float along, 
What a clear and elfin lay, 
What a merry roundelay. 
You would lilt from tiny throat ; 
Wanton, filmy, floating mote ! 
1 06 



Ipapilio 

A sweet, ethereal ecstasy 
You would utter in your glee, 
Clear as note of woodland fay, — 
Echoing, dying, far-away ; 
Soft as strains from spiraled shell. 
The fairies blow in hidden dell. 
When, around the woodland flower 
They merrily dance on a midnight hour. 

The haunting sweetness of your song 
In airy echoes would prolong; 
Upon the fragrant air would float. 
Softer, finer, more remote, 
Than trumpet notes of mystic spell 
Blown by elf from purple bell. 
The morning-glories gay unfold 
For bugle of a fairy bold. 
August, 1902. 

107 



TLbongbt anD ffancis 
OCTOBER 



/^^ OLD is the passion of the year ! the air 
^^^^ Unburdened, more, with showers blows 

laughing cool 
Through leaf and stem it once caressed to mad. 
Luxuriant growth ; they feel no passion, more. 
The storms of summer cease ; no angry mood 
On instant covers heaven's face serene 
In grace of life, with frown of coming wrath 
And tempest's sweep ; now fall the winds in 

song. 
Hushed is the song of growth ! the harvest calls 
From wood and field ; through rustling shock 

and leaf 
Arrayed for death, the herald winds sing low 
Of winter's rage ; the song of birth has ceased. 
The song of birth is joy ; the song of death is 

fear ; — 
O summer flown, dead is the passion of the 



year ! 



1 08 



©ctober 

II 

OOUND, autumn winds, the summer's 
^^ death ! for you 
The harvest ready stands ; the corn is ripe, 
Its gold but waits the silver touch of frost, 
Till harvest moon shall light the husking rites. 
Blow ice-lipped winds ! the kerneled nut 

awaits 
Your chill to burst its bonds and see the sun 
At last, which fed its hidden life, and fall 
The prize of laughter and bewitching eyes. 
Moan winds of death, and touch the laggard 

flowers. 
That timid lift their bloom toward skies grown 

chill ; 
Till, suddenly, they fall asleep and lay 
Their sere and withered hopes on earth 

grown dead ! 
Sound, autumn winds, moan out your dirge 

with icy breath ; 
Sing to the stricken flowers, your wail for sum- 
mer's death ! 

109 



III 

T\ yTOAN, autumn winds, the summer's 

dirge ! no fleet 
And fickle breeze are you, to coy with flowers 
And dance with leaves in wild abandon sweet, 
Through woodland moist and echoing songs 

of birds. 
Blow with strong will, O autumn winds ! now 

hold 
Your course unerring fast, pour out your plaint 
And moan in weariness for way you came 
From the North to distant lands of mellow sun. 
Pour out your moan, O steadfast winds ; in low, 
Sad monotone sigh out your tale of frost, 
That stings as death, and ice-bound waste, 

whose sun, 
Too weak for life, but gilds the track of death ! 
Blow autumn winds, hold steadfast course, 

your wild ways urge ; 
Moan out your threat of death, and sigh the 

summer's dirge ! 
October, 1901. 

no 



tTbe InwarD Sea 
THE INWARD SEA 

T X /"ITHIN my heart there moves a view- 

^ ^ less sea, 
Whose tides a dim, compelling power obey. 
Which ceaseless casts their waves on moaning 

shores, 
That else might murmur in sun-kissed content. 
Across its bar there pass far notes more sweet, 
Than chords, which thrill its nearer strand ; 

some stray, 
Faint echoings, fine and spirit-clear, of song, 
Whose melodies in distant murmurs fall. 
Upon its depths fierce storms of passion rise. 
That vent their rage in blinding spray, till all 
Their agony is spent ; then sink the waves. 
And sun and calm woo in the day of peace. 
O sea of storm, of song and calm, within my 

breast ; 
Of sun-kissed, moonlit splendors, and of wild 

unrest ! 
November, 1901. 

Ill 



XTbouQbt anD afanci? 



THE LONG, LONG DAYS 

I 

^ I ^HEY ceaseless come and go, the passing 

days, 
Whose numbers round the span of life ; they 

rise 
In vista long before the wearied eye, 
Heedless of cry for boon of rest and clasp 
Of love, that was life's sun ! There will be 

days 
Of spring, when hope fresh greens with in- 
spired light. 
Whose dawning hailed with song, will yield 

the night 
A benison ; and days will come of fruit 
And ear for some rich harvest-tide ; and some 
May chance without the gift of light, whose 

steps 
Fall heavy on the laden heart, and ears 

112 



^be %om, %om 2>ai26 

Grown strangely dull to once loved noble 

strains. 
They come and go, whose coming no hand 

stays ; 
They come, with gleam or cloud, — the long, 

long days ! 

II 

T3ROKEN by dreams, till they shall cease 
"^ in sleep. 

The sure procession of our days moves on ; 
They loom before in phantom shapes, that 

wait 
The beck of Hours to lead them by the hand 
Through being's steps. From sadness and the 

loss 
Of days no more ; from emptiness, and toil, 
That scattered seed in patience, sparing not, - 
Hope ever pleads, the days, that are to be. 
Shall pass not as the dull hours known, but 

shall 
Be gladsome harvest-tide for fruit of toil : 
H 113 



G:bou9bt anD jfancis 

And we, who pause for weariness, will find 
In them the song, the heart unuttered held, — 
The while they come, whose brighter gold we 

keep, 
The long, long days, till they shall end in sleep ! 
October, 1901. 

114 



NOTES 

I. Page 7 

THE WRECK OF THE MYRTLE 

The ballad is based circumstantially on the loss 
of a ship and its entire crew, off the beach at Chica- 
go, during one of the most severe storms that has 
been known to visit the Northern Lakes. The facts 
of the shipwreck, were communicated to the author 
by Mr. James Keeley, the managing editor of the 
Chicago Tribune y in a letter which is here given at 
length. The further narrative of the ballad is so 
fully developed in the verses, that the reader proba- 
bly will not require any comment upon it. 

** Chicago, August 29, 1902. 
"The schooner Myrtle, Captain Wilson, 
went down off Thirty-fifth Street, with the captain 
and crew of five men, at half-past six o'clock, on the 
evening of May 18, 1894. It was among the vessels 
anchored off Van Buren Street ; and, in the after- 
noon, it was thought to be safe, until another vessel 
slipped its anchor and fouled it. The Myrtle was 

115 



Hlotea 

driven south to the point where it sank. During 
the several hours that it drifted down the lake, — 
most of the time with only the masts showing, — the 
crew could be seen standing together on the roof of 
the cabin. Heroic efforts were made to rescue the 
crew, but all the attempts failed. 

The Myrtle was built at Milan, Ohio, in 1857; 
and its home port was Chicago." 

II. Page 7 

Impatient for the Opening Day, 

It is customary for the insurance underwriters to 
appoint a particular day in the spring of each year, 
when navigation upon the Lakes may be resumed. 
The date is determined by the disappearance of the 
ice from the straits and harbors. 

III. Page 10 



The sudden storms that smote 

The sleeping, treacherous lake. 

The Lakes, and Lake Michigan in particular, in 
the spring and early summer, are liable to sudden 
and violent storms which rapidly raise a dangerous 
sea. These storms are dreaded by the sailors, and 

116 



motee 

they make navigation on the Lake especially uncer- 
tain and dangerous. 

IV. Page 22 

The " mariner'' s star^^ on the Temple'' s height. 

The lantern of the Masonic Temple, which is oc- 
cupied by the Hydrographic Office, is provided with 
a crown of arc lights. As they are located at an ele- 
vation of some three hundred feet, they can be seen 
to a great distance at sea. 

V. Page 26 

A sailor would dash withfrenx^ brave. 
Across the storm -swept deck. 

The author was one of the vast crowd gathered 
along the sea-wall, watching the sinking vessel ; and 
when the Myrtle was first seen by him, several sail- 
ors were on the masts, clinging to the remains of the 
rigging. Just before the vessel sank, one after an- 
other, waiting for a favorable moment, dashed across 
the deck and joined those of the crew already on the 
roof of the cabin. Realizing the approaching catas- 
trophy, a feeling of comradeship probably excited 
them to the forlorn attempt. 

117 



Hlotea 

VI. Page 31 
HELEN DEANE 

A ballad or narrative poem, according to certain 
standards of criticism, should develop some definite 
plot, or compass a completed action. Either of these 
qualities being w^anting, the lack of unity is supposed 
to be supplied by suggestiveness of a something, 
which the author had not cared to express broadly, 
or had been unable to develop ; or, by recourse to 
some phase of conventional romance. 

Should an author insist on being individual, and 
pursue a simple action in a style, w^hich is natural 
and unaffected, though not in accord with accepted 
conventions : there are readers, who might ignore the 
claims of the lines on their attention, and dismiss 
them as mere commonplace. 

When contemplating the narrative of Helen Deane, 
a commonplace object — a post at a railway sid- 
ing — was purposely selected to bear out the inten- 
tion of the poem ; which was, that natural objects, 
when they influence or are associated with the deep 
and abiding phases of life, to this extent, acquire a 
spiritual significance. 

This significant thought for the poem is expressed 
in the lines from the introduction (page 32 ), 

118 



I 



TdOtCB 

About the lowly y common thing. 
The heart may vfeave its story » 

The suggestion for the poem was received upon 
reading some critical passages by W. D. Howells. 
Old as the controversy over the ideal opposed to the 
real, is, it is still mooted w^ith its ancient vigor some- 
what diminished, and reappears under many insidi- 
ous disguises. It is not the purpose of these 
remarks to enter the old lists, or add to an already 
overburdened issue, beyond expressing a belief in the 
harmony of the real and the ideal, and protesting 
against dignifying the products of the merely con- 
ventional imaginaries by the term of " idealism ". 
I will venture to instance a quotation from a most 
suggestive book. ^ 

" We are beginning to see and to say, that no au- 
thor is an authority except in those moments when 
he held his ear close to Nature's lips and caught her 
very accent. 

*^ It remained for realism to assert that fidelity to 
experience and probability of motive, are essential 
conditions of a great imaginative literature. It is 
not a new theory, but it has never before universally 
characterized literary endeavor. When realism be- 

*" Criticism and Fiction,** by W. D. Howells. 
119 



mote0 

comes false to itself, when it heaps up facts merely, 
and maps life instead of picturing it, realism will 
perish too. Every true realist instinctively knows 
this, and it is perhaps the reason why he is careful 
of every fact, and feels himself bound to express or 
to indicate its meaning at the risk of over-moraliz- 
ing. In life he finds nothing insignificant ; all tells 
for destiny and character ; nothing that God has 
made is contemptible. He can not look upon hu- 
man life and declare this thing or that thing unwor- 
thy of notice, any more than the scientist can declare 
a fact of the material world beneath the dignity of 
his inquiry. He feels in every nerve the equality 
of things and the unity of men ; his soul is exalted, 
not by vain shows and shadows and ideals, but by 
realities, in which alone the truth lives." 

VII. Page 34 

Where Pennsylvania '/ mountains wind 
In ridges low and wooded. 

In central Pennsylvania a somewhat winding val- 
ley extends for miles between the broken range of 
the Bald Eagle Mountains, and high, rolling hills. 
Through this valley flows a stream bearing the name 
of the mountains. Situated at the extremes of the 

120 



valley, are the towns of Lock Haven, and Tyrone. 
It is a region, w^hich possesses singular beauty and 
attraction, aside from any associations for those fa- 
miliar v^ith it. 

VIII. Page 73 
CEDARCROFT 

These lines are an expression of appreciation of 
the poetical work of Bayard Taylor, and admiration 
of its artistic worth and quality of high inspiration. 
To the author, he was not so much a writer of charm- 
ing romance and vivid descriptions of travel, — these 
seem, rather, incidental to the circumstances of his 
life ; — he was preeminently the poet. The poeti- 
cal work of no American poet more richly repays 
close study ; the reader chances on many lines of ex- 
quisite diction and charming cadence, and passages 
of classical purity. With him, the desire to be re- 
membered by posterity as a poet, amounted almost 
to a passion ; and one to be sincere, who pays a tri- 
bute to Taylor's literary work, must recognize pre- 
eminently his devotion to the Muse. 

Cedarcroft was suggested by a visit to the home, 
that in its decay is still eloquent of its Founder. 

121 



IRotes 

IX. Page 73 

From Kennett^s quaint y half-ancient square. 
Where memories of Martha Deane 
Linger in tender, sweet appeal. 

The Unicorn Tavern described in the " Story of 
Kennett," stood on this square ; and almost directly- 
opposite, was the modest home of Martha Deane. 

X. Page 85 

And westward, where in pristine days 
There stood tall, clustering chestnut trees, 

A group of lordly chestnut trees grew on the lawn 
near the hall at Cedarcroft. Perhaps no objects 
about his home, were more endeared to Bayard Tay- 
lor. In the Inscription of his " Poetical Works," * 
To the Mistress of Cedarcroft, he writes, — 

'* Westward our immemorial chestnuts stand, 
A mount of shade." 

Sidney Lanier has celebrated these lordly trees in 
the lines entitled. Under the Cedarcroft Chestnut, f 
He apostrophizes the monarch of the group, as, 

^"Household Edition," Houghton, MifHin and 
Company, 
t '^ Poems of Sidney Lanier," page 149. 

122 



IQotea 

" A Presence large, a grave and steadfast Form 
Amid the leaves' light play and fantasy ; 
A calmness conquered out of many a storm, 
A Manhood mastered by a chestnut tree ! " 

XL Page 91 
A HYMN TO THE INTELLECT 

From wandering lights you read in prisma I tale. 
Whose every tone is wrought in unheard song. 
What builds the might of distant worlds that 
throng 

All space, and countless suns. 

Those who are familiar with the physics of optics 
and sound, are conversant with the analogy between 
shades or tints of color, and musical chords. To the 
author, the spectrum of luminous bodies has invari- 
ably suggested musical harmonies, which have needed 
but the means of appealing to the sense of sound, to 
become conscious in the most exquisite harmonies. 
The specific reference is made in these lines to our 
knowledge of celestial bodies through the means of 
spectrum analysis. 

A poem addressed to the Intellect in this period 
of its great achievement, must abound in references 
to the activities of modern science. The intellect 

123 



Jdotce 

no longer expresses its energies through the medium 
of conventional philosophy, which, deeply absorbed 
with the passions, sensations and mental states of 
life, and its elusive spiritual problems, under the 
cloak of a rigorous style and method, was at heart a 
noble and dignified form of the poetical insight, and 
not infrequently, of poetical expression itself. 

The intellect is no longer content with the crea- 
tion of an ideal world and an imaginary plan of the 
universe evolved from its own musings ; it has ac- 
cepted the material environment, and bends its ener- 
gies toward modifying and adapting the visible and 
tangible. The spiritual depth and poetical beauty 
of the old philosophies have given place to the grim, 
inexorable and, often, barren ciphering of science. 
Though science has produced profound changes in 
our civilization, it is debatable, whether it has yet 
directly contributed to a fuller expression of the vi- 
tal phases of life. It has surfeited us with the minut- 
est anatomy, but it has been unable to explain how 
the material investment is correlated with the spirit- 
ual forces, which dominate it. The time is not yet 

come " when what is now called science 

[is] ready to put on, as it were, a form of flesh and 
blood." 

But the investiture of the material anatomy of sci- 

124 



TXlotCB 

ence with the " flesh and blood " of humanity, may- 
be awaiting only the labors of the poet. " The re- 
motest discoveries," continues Wordsworth, " of the 
Chemist, the Botanist, or Mineralogist, will be as 
proper objects of the Poet's art as any upon which 
it can be employed, if the time should ever come 
when these things shall be familiar to us, and the re- 
lations under which they are contemplated by the 
followers of these respective sciences, shall be man- 
ifestly and palpably material to us as enjoying and 
suffering beings." ^ 

Interpreted literally such sentiments are too san- 
guine and presuppose, that an ardent appreciation of 
all that is poetical in life will be intensified by each 
increase in the popular diffusion of knowledge of the 
various sciences. No one should be more respon- 
sive to poetical suggestion than the scientist ( not the 
artisan-like specialist) in love with his investiga- 
tions ; but experience is convincing that the two, po- 
etry and science, are apt to prove mutually exclusive, 
and even jealously so. If the scientist as he pro- 
gresses, can preserve that spiritual sensitiveness to 
beauty and Nature, which is the basis of all poetical 

* Wordsworth's ''Prefaces," Aldine edition, vol. 
v., page 232. 

125 



appreciation, he will then find that science has af- 
forded a depth of poetical suggestion and inspiration, 
which could not otherwise have been attained. 

XI I. Page 98 

TRUTH AND SONG 

The refrain in these verses was immediately sug- 
gested by the charming chorus from the fantastic dra- 
ma by Riley,* and remotely by the refrain from the 
song of the Echoes of Shelley's Prometheus Unbound, 

XIII. Page 108 
OCTOBER 

The strict sonnet form whose criterion is found 
in Italian verse, especially that of Dante and Pe- 
trarch, is something of an alien to the genius of our 
language. Though naturalized early in the devel- 
opment of English literature and having moulded 
some of its most exquisite verse, at best its melody 
seems dulled by the harsher rhythm and stress of our 
speech. 

Though no one form of metrical expression is 

* '* The Flying Islands of the Night," page 4. 
126 



Jdotce 

more seriously cultivated at present, than the son- 
net, the results, while often exceedingly clever, are 
seldom satisfying. In too many instances thought 
and expression are sacrificed to a dominant form ; 
with little discrimination, subjects which require 
lighter and more fluent melody, are garbed in the 
dignified and heavy measures of the accepted sonnet 
form. The sonnet is rarely, indeed, intrinsically in- 
teresting ; and it receives attention rather as an ex- 
hibition of the skillful combination of word-stresses 
and rhyme, 

" Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground." ^ 

The vitality of the sonnet form must be sought in 
its terseness and majestic melody, rather than a hap- 
pily formulated meter alone. Its fundamental is un- 
ity of thought with brief and beautiful variations. 
It is a vehicle for the expression of a terse idea which 
requires no elaboration of details. If this is con- 
ceded, the particular arrangement of the stress and 
rhyme in the sonnet is properly an accessory and in- 
cident, and it may with propriety be adapted and 
moulded to the matter and character of the expression 
which it clothes. 

^**On the Sonnet," by Wordsworth. 
127 



JSlotcs 

The unity of thought required by the sonnet can 
not be sustained without loss of interest beyond two 
or, at most, three quatrains ; and, as a musical com- 
position is brought to an harmonious conclusion by 
the coda in which the dominant theme is reiterated, 
sometimes with variations, — the two, or three quat- 
rains of the sonnet are properly, and perhaps natur- 
ally, followed by a couplet or sestet, in which, by a 
slight variation of the original theme, the verses are 
brought to a melodious conclusion. 

There is something, then, that is natural in the 
sonnet's convention of fourteen verses, these being 
made up of quatrains and a couplet, or quatrains and 
a sestet. The recent attempt to translate the sonnets 
of Heredia "^ into un rhymed decasyllabic verses, has 
met with such a measure of acceptance, that it raises 
the question of the inviolability of the sonnet form. 

In the group of poems concluding this volume, 
the sonnet form has been employed with liberty and 
latitude governed by the considerations here briefly 
discussed. 

■^"The Trophies, Sonnets Unrhymed from the 
French of JosE Maria de Heredia," translated by 
Frank Sewall. 

128 



NOV 2 1903 



